


Reluctant Sacrifice

by Portia77



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ALL THE GOOD THINGS, Alternate Universe - Outlander Fusion, Angst, F/M, Romance, Scene snippet, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 20:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Portia77/pseuds/Portia77
Summary: But Sandor’s strength was not infamous without cause; he ripped himself out of their clutches within seconds, a beast in the throes of rage.“I WILL NOT LET YOU SACRIFICE YOURSELF!” he roared, marching back in front of me to shake my shoulders, as though willing me to stop trying to turn myself in.He was fighting a lost cause; for as much as he wanted to save me, I too wanted to save him.





	Reluctant Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Ripped from a scene in Outlander. If you're familiar with the stories/series, you'll probably recognize it, but I've tried to make it so you don't need to have watched it to understand. 
> 
> I own neither Outlander or ASOIAF. Let the angst begin!

In a tiny cottage with rickety wooden walls, eight pairs of eyes glanced nervously around at one other. The leader of our group—tall and mighty—stood in the shadows near the windowpane, peering out cautiously into the waning daylight.

A taut, upright sort of voice beckoned from outside. _“This is the Golden Company. Come out and surrender, and we shall spare your lives.”_

Everyone inside the cottage was silent. The refuge we had sought in desperation was all a ruse; we were as trapped here as we had been on the road, running from the soldiers. I looked around at my companions in dismay, scrambling to come up with a solution just as they were.

And as a stroke of lightning, it hit me.

 _“HELP!”_ I shrieked, loud enough for the soldiers to hear. _“HELP, PLEASE!”_

At once, Bronn and Grey Worm were running at me, hushing me urgently, the disbelief at my perceived betrayal was plain in their eyes.

 _“What are you doing??”_ Bronn hissed.

But it was my husband who realized my intentions before the rest. His steel-grey eyes glared down at me from across the tiny cottage, and for a second I truly thought he might implode from the sheer force of his anger.

“The Golden Company won’t hurt me if they think I’m your captive,” I whispered urgently to them, but the fury in his eyes did not abate. He took two steps towards me, a warning glare on his face. “If they believe a lady’s life is at stake, they’ll trade me in exchange for your freedoms.”

His deep voice was dangerously loud considering our precarious situation. “Don’t. You. _Dare_ —”

“HELP!” I cried, louder than before. “HELP ME!”

The soldiers outside were plainly confused and alarmed. _“Who is that? Have you a woman with you!?”_

But I couldn’t shout for help any longer, for in three large strides, my husband had crossed the room and clapped a hand over my mouth as he pressed me to his chest.

_“What in the name of God do you think you’re doing, little bird?”_

I twisted my head about, wrenching my mouth from the clutch of his palm. “It’s the only way,” I breathed. From the way I was held, I had to crane my neck even more than usual to look at his face. “Sandor…”

“No.” He was resolute. “ _I_ am Lord Clegane. I’ll give myself up in exchange for the freedom of you.” It was only testament to his anger that he referred to himself as the Lord of the Clegane house, a title he had despised for longer than I’d known him.

“That’s a stupid plan!” I half-cried, now nearly as furious at him as he was with me. The only difference was that _his_ idea would doubtlessly result in his death, where mine would almost certainly see me to safety.

… _Almost certainly._

“They’ll kill you,” I argued. The soldiers outside were already shouting orders to surrender me into their _protection._

“And who stands a better chance at defeating a band of gold cloaks?” he snapped, spittle flying from his mouth, such was his wrath. His scars twisted more furiously and uglier than ever before.

“I do! They won’t hurt me, not if they think I am a true lady— _which I am,”_ I added with a threatening tone. “I am _your_ lady, and it is as much my responsibility to see after the people of Clegane Keep as yours!”

“She’s right.” Our heads snapped in time at the sound of Bronn’s voice, his reluctance plain. “It’s a fine plan.”

“It is the _best_ plan we have,” Greyworm corrected him with a frown.

“No. No, I won’t let you.”

Bronn walked over to me, heedless of Sandor’s adamant words, and began to guide me to the door.

He didn’t get far though, for Sandor braced both hands on Bronn’s chest and shoved, _hard_. Greyworm and Gendry tried next, each prying him away from me, as though they believed I might make a mad dash without saying goodbye.

But Sandor’s strength was not infamous without cause; he ripped himself out of their clutches within seconds, a beast in the throes of rage.

“I WILL NOT LET YOU SACRIFICE YOURSELF!” he roared, marching back in front of me to shake my shoulders, as though willing me to stop trying to turn myself in.

He was fighting a lost cause; for as much as he wanted to save me, I too wanted to save _him_.

But not even my fervent desire to protect him could stop my chin from trembling, nor my knees from threatening to buckle. I was terrified, in all truth. I knew what must be done; even Sandor could see it, reluctant as he was to admit it.

That didn’t make me any more eager to hand myself over to what was, in all reality, the enemy.

“They’ll take her to the Eyrie. It’s the closest keep in the area.” Bronn looked out the window and walked back to us, an urgent look upon his face. “Well? We must trade her, now, if there’s to be any hope.”

“No.”

I swallowed. “Sandor, you _will_ find me.”

Sandor breathed hard, and his eyes reminded me of a stallion pressed into a corner. _“I forbid it.”_

I took his face in my hands, running my thumbs carefully over his lips, his chin. “You heard Bronn. The Eyrie. That’s not far.”

He shook his head. “I won’t let you do this.”

And I exhaled a half-sob, half-laugh at his pigheaded stubbornness, so familiar to me by now. “You’ll find me,” I repeated, trying to sound confident. It wasn’t that I didn’t think he could; the fear of being alone with a group of strange men made me uneasy.

I steeled myself as best I could and pulled him in for a kiss before he could refute my words, before he could see my tears. His breath tasted stale—likely as much as my own—but his arms wrapped around me, strong and secure, and for one blissful moment, I could pretend I wasn’t about to do what I was about to do.

And then he was lifting me in his arms, the look of outright fury still unabated, and he began to march towards the door.

“What are you doing?” hissed Bronn, yanking Sandor back by the shoulder. “They’ll recognize you as the Hound right away! The trade will be off for sure!”

“He’s right,” I agreed, suddenly sullen. I was loath to be parted from Sandor any sooner than absolutely necessary, but before I knew it, I was being cradled in Bronn’s arms, and felt all the colder for it.

“Come find me,” I repeated, almost begging, unable to conceal the terror any longer.

Sandor’s face was dangerously grim in the flickering candlelight. “Not even God Himself could stop me.”

I took comfort in his words and the severity of them as Bronn carried me away into the night, into the unknown.  


End file.
